Caring
by terminallyToreadork
Summary: Tavros had always been comfortable around Gamzee. With nothing expected of him, he had no expectation to fail. Then things like flushcrushes and doomed timelines happen, and Tavros has to figure things out quick.
1. Nervous Puppy

**A/N: Tavros' point of view. Second person, but not an interactive fic, therefore not against the rules.**

**Warnings for sexual harassment/assault, ableism, swearing, drug use, mentions of character death, Vriska, and sober Gamzee.**

You had never expected Gamzee to be so clingy. Beneath the easy smiles, both painted and real, behind all the self assured confidence that left him with no understanding of caution, he was starved for social interaction. He needed to prove that you were real, it seemed. He needed to touch, with more than just his hands, tell himself that you were not going to be swallowed up by sand like the ocean used to hide his lusus; leave him alone to drown in a sopored daze with his clown posters and the cruel words pinging through Trollian as someone had to tell him, yet again, exactly why they were ashamed to know him.

It was no wonder he had joined a cult. He was an easy target, just the kind of kid they would look for. Willing to let others berate him, grinning through their taunts and harsh words, just happy to be paid attention to. Alone and needing desperately to belong to something.

Anything.

Sometimes, it seems that anything is you.

* * *

It was near the beginning of the game when you first met in person. He looked awkwardly out of place on the roof of your hive, not that he showed any sign of caring. Your eye level was just below his shirt's sign, you being in a four-wheeled device, and he was thin, like he didn't understand exactly what food was for. You didn't want to see his face, see his expression when he saw how your legs didn't work even though you'd told him. You think he didn't understand, even as he tried to be considerate of your disability in your Trollian chats, he never really seemed to get the fact that your spine had been broken; you couldn't feel anything below the waist. You stared at his sign, Capricorn in royal purple, and you still find difficulty in the fact that he could like you so much, be so kind to a lowblood with a damaged body.

You still find difficulty in the fact that he could be flushed for you. You don't want him to be. You're scared.

He isn't.

He climbs right into the wheeled chair with you and holds you so close to himself and he's thin, you note again, a skeleton with skin, and yet he's stronger than he looks, a lot stronger. You don't understand how that's possible, but then again you don't understand a lot of things, and he's got purple blood, of course he's going to be-

Gamzee's face, you're suddenly looking at his face. He's cupped your chin gently in long bony fingers, tilting it up, and his face is a painted death mask.

Maybe you expected that, the facepaint. You had always found his obsession with clowns amusing, it seemed harmless enough, just one of the things that made him unique, and the way he would enthusiastically go on about them in his alternating purple caps was endearing in its own way.

You were regarded with awed, too wide pupils, disregarding the brightness of the Land of Sand and Zephyr. His breath smelled of sopor, harsh and bitter-sweet, and undertone of cough syrup that you figure must be Faygo. There was no question that he was high, and you wonder not for the first time if he would still like you were he sober and thinking properly.

He's smiling, he's too happy, you think, and for a moment he focuses on your mouth, and you're terrified he's going to kiss you, you can barely handle this, being practically straddled by one that thinks he's in love with you. He's probably just perpetually stoned; you don't want to consider that it might be true.

Karkat even thinks Gamzee's flushed for you, messaged you after you didn't answer the request for make-outs. Ranted, shouted, and asked in his slate capslock what you said to Gamzee. Apparently "THE NOOK-PANED CLOWN" tossed an insult back at his "bEsT MoThErFuCkInG FrIeNd," when Gamzee rarely had a bad thing to say about anyone, and said best friend was nearly beside himself. Karkat had always been transparent with his feelings, everyone else could see them before he did, and it was obvious he was pale for Gamzee.

In the end he doesn't kiss you, and you're glad for that, if he does you believe might vomit from nerves. His grin is wide enough you might count all his teeth if you were so inclined, and they may as well be called fangs, longer than yours, but maybe not quite as sharp. He cuddles into you as tight as he can without hurting and stays that way until Karkat finds you and screams at him for doing exactly what he said not to, as if that were anything new.

* * *

You've not been logged into trollian in a while, preferring to sleep, only waking up to eat, spending as much time as you can dreaming on Prospit. Sometimes Terezi dreams there with you, all sharp smiles and painful games, staring with those unnerving bind eyes. Gamzee's dreamself seems to have awoken, but you haven't seen him, so you're not sure. Someone may have just moved his body from his bed. You ask Kanaya, once, but she doesn't know, too preoccupied with frogs to find out, and not really caring about him in the first place. It isn't your business anyway, so you leave it alone.

* * *

You see cobalt every time you blink, see it covering Vriska's body, broken and twisted in the wrong way on her quest slab. Blue messages written by your own hands by her to yourself, brown mixing in as your fingertips broke against stone and you want to scream all over again; you couldn't kill her.

She needed you to and you couldn't. Couldn't kiss her, couldn't kill her, couldn't look her in the eye and tell her to leave you out of her games and tricks.

You couldn't even hate her for it.

* * *

You want to sleep.

You want to ignore the footsteps coming closer, louder and more insistent, and you reach out with your mind, but it's sentient, you'd sent all the underlings away, and you can't commune with fully sentient beings. You're suddenly aware of how vulnerable you are, curled on the ground with useless legs and what if it's her? She's going to be angry, she's going to hurt you, you're sure. Then again you've never been able to predict her. You don't know what she wants of you, what she expects, and you're constantly failing her in your confusion.

It's not that it's her fault; you know you're not very good at being a troll, you've been told that enough to believe it. Karkat thinks she broke you, broke something in your think pan, maybe with the mind control, maybe by jumping you off a cliff when you refused to play a game you couldn't possibly win. You've always been this way though, it's older than that. Nepeta tried to explain to him once on your behalf, but he wasn't interested in listening.

Sit up, crawl towards your rocket car, dragging yourself up over the side and situating your legs in a manner that almost looked natural. You could get away now if you needed to. Maybe. If she didn't mind control you.

Instead of an orange hood, blue makeup and the confusing, conflicting spider web of half-ideas that descended over your thoughts when she was around, you see long twisting horns, messy black curls that seem to be making some attempt to devour everything nearby, baggy clothes, the pants polka-dotted and the t-shirt stained and worn in a way she'd never let it get. You see smeared face paint and an expression that looks so wrong on that face that you'd only seen a smile on before.

He's fiddling with his clothes, seeming less a troll and more a collection of pained confusion, and he stops when he sees you. He's still, and while this wouldn't normally be unusual, this time he is not spacing out, he isn't smiling. He reminds you now of a nervous puppy waiting to be kicked.

"Gamzee?" Your voice is rough; you haven't used it in at least two days, not in this body.

He doesn't answer, instead starts worrying at his shirt and now there's a hole, and it's getting bigger, stretched and torn by fingers that don't look quite as thin as last you saw them.

Something is very wrong, and you don't know what to do.


	2. Unacceptable Behaviour

You stare at Gamzee expectantly, but he's too preoccupied with his shirt, and you have to call his name again to bring his attention back to you. He would rather stare at the ruins here in your land than look at you. You weren't at your hive, not sure if Vriska was at hers waiting to be able to drop something on you through the game interface. You should probably think better of her, but she's given you plenty of reason to be cautious. That doesn't stop you from feeling bad about it.

"Hey," he has a fairly high pitched voice, and it crackles up and down frequently.

You laughed about it once, told him he sounds like a girl. He honked and laughed with you, not even commenting on how your voice would often rise noticeably in volume by the end of a sentence.

"Is everything alright there, Gamzee? Like, uh, chill?" You think you might want to turn the car, fly off in the other direction, and run away just like you always did when there was a problem. You had never seen him this way before.

"Not too fuckin' chill there bro, thoughts all getting itchy-nagging like in my sponge, and my modus is all being pie free. Gave that shit to those dope little mother fuckers what everyone's been getting all their aggression on against."

"You haven't been fighting them either? The monsters, I mean, not our friends, in case that wasn't something that was clear." You smile, trying to get him to reciprocate, but he doesn't notice.

"Nah, clear as all fucking shit there, you are. Ain't so mother fucking fun getting my violence on with those what ain't needed to be getting violent with, dig?"

"Yes, I can, most definitely, dig." Now if only Vriska could understand, most of your problems would be solved.

Well, not the legs problem, but you could deal with that.

He stays quiet now, but he's looking at you, mostly. The silence is stretching into awkward territory and you're about to speak when he starts moving again. Each step is slow, deliberate, like he's not sure he's allowed near you and you're going to turn and fly away and he doesn't want that.

The rocket car is hovering just high enough that you can see eye to eye. He isn't looking at you either way; he's focused on the car.

"Can I all be getting my request on?" It's mumbled, tumbling out of his mouth, not like he doesn't know what he's saying, but knows that now might not be the right time. Or maybe he knows the answer and distantly hopes he's wrong.

"I, can't really stop you?" It's strange that he's asking to ask something. He's never been one to show nervousness, if in fact he ever felt it at all.

"Did you get to thinking about the answer? To the question I was all tossing at you before this wicked game got to be something we was playing," he's asking as he steps toward you, sand grinding against stone beneath his shoes, and he clarifies before he reaches you. "Pie and makeouts?"

You freeze, uncomfortable. You'd flooded the chat with commas and logged out of Trollian soon after he asked, to delay having to respond. That was weeks ago now, if you're correct. You tried to pretend it never happened and hoped he'd forget. It seems he didn't. You can almost see Vriska's room again, and you really don't want a repeat of that. Gamzee isn't Vriska though, you should just be able to tell him no and he'll drop it, right?

He's right next to you, drapes his arms over the side of the car, loosely around your waist as if to keep you from leaving without giving him an answer. You could though, you could just fly away and he'd have to let go. Maybe you should, but that would be cruel to him, and you'd done as much last time.

You look at him, and your mind shorts out, latching arbitrarily onto things, like how he's still skinny, but not so much as before; he no longer looks so sick, and you didn't know he could gain weight that fast. His hands are absently toying with your jacket, and the light reflecting off the sand is bright enough it almost hurts your eyes. You want to close them. You feel sick.

You don't want to kiss him. You don't want to hurt him either. You don't want to make a decision.

He makes a whine in this throat like a sulky wriggler when you don't answer. You reach for the controls to leave, and his arms give you a brief squeeze before he lets go.

You look back a few seconds after you go, and he's sitting, propped against the stone like he was carelessly tossed there, a discarded ragdoll.

As is often the case with these situations, you made a choice by trying not to make one. Now he looks like he wouldn't even defend himself if attacked by an underling. You are a horrible friend.

You turn around. It's not right to leave him alone out here when he's such a mess. It's too easy to die in this game; you should take him to someone that won't mind watching him until he returns to his normal optimistic self.

You land the rocket car on next to him on the ruins.

"I think, probably, the best idea right now is to take you to Karkat."

No response.

"Gamzee, please, get on the car. At least get up."

Nothing.

"Gamzee."

He lazily looks at you. Some progress, at least. You pat the car, indicating he should climb on. He doesn't move.

"Is something wrong? Did something, uh, happen?" You're always grasping for words that don't come within reach quick enough, even if they're simple.

His face twists, you see more of his teeth, his eyes close and he breathes in carefully. "I'm scared, little miracle brother."

"Of what?"

"Me."

"How can you be scared of, yourself?" You don't understand.

He shrugs. You sigh and heave yourself over the side of the vehicle, and crawl to sit next to him.

Gamzee just stares at you blankly, straightening so he resembles a troll more than an unwanted doll again, his limbs looking more collected and not loosely attached by strings.

He's suddenly on top of you, wrapping an arm around your torso and a leg around both of yours, and just as suddenly you're on top of him. You can feel his paint smeared on your cheek and the side of your mouth. Your horn is resting on his brow, and that's got to have face paint on it too.

You're shoving his arms off and pushing yourself up and away from his face as soon as you recover, but even while you have more upper body strength, he's got fully functioning legs, and they're wrapped securely around your useless lower half. You're holding yourself up with both arms to keep balance, and he slings his over the back of your neck and pulls himself up. Pushes your jacket collar aside and presses his painted face where your shoulder and neck meet as well as your respective horns will let him.

"Stop." You're surprised at how authoritative you sound, but this is too close to what happened with Vriska, even though he's not making you kiss him, you know he wants you to and he's too close.

He just whines and pulls tighter, as if he thinks you're going to change your mind if he appears pitiful enough, a child alone without a lusus.

You want to push him off; you want to yell that you're sick of people thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want with you. They think you're not allowed to have feelings other than what they want you to feel. You want to be mad, but you're not like that. That aside, even if Gamzee has a blatant disregard for the hemospectrum most of the time, you're a lowblood, forced to always be aware of it. He can remember when it suits him, mentioning it offhand before proposing drugged makeouts. Seems all highbloods are manipulative when they want something.

Your arms are tired from holding up your combined weight and you lower both of you back to the ground. He squirms briefly and you take the opportunity to work an arm in between and shove yourselves apart.

Grey and white are smeared across his face, and you can feel its waxiness on your face and neck. Any expression on his face disappears, and you think he's staring at your lips. He tries to move up towards you again but you push him back, your hand hasn't left his chest.

"What are you doing?" That was a dumb question, likely about the dumbest you could ask right now. You know what he's doing, what you don't understand is why, where did he learn that this kind of behavior is the least bit acceptable? What is wrong with him that he thinks the solution is to wrap himself around you and make you as uncomfortable as possible?

"Kiss me?" It sounds like a question, but you wonder if it is, really. You've never seen Gamzee angry, but that's not saying he couldn't become angry. Some of his raps are... disturbing at best, and you wouldn't put it past him to resent you for rejecting him. That seems to be why Vriska hates you. "Please? I was just going through the awfulest fucking thing.


	3. Strong Like Water

"No, I don't think that is going to be a thing, which is going to happen." You're not going to kiss him. You don't want to. It's that simple. You hope.

He stops, stills for a few seconds; just long enough you think he's intending to stay that way. He doesn't though, just moves his hands up over the one you have on his chest, and leaves them there.

"Gamzee, if you want, I could take you back to your hive. You could go get some pies." You think it's gross, that he eats that stuff, but whatever makes him happy can't be too bad, right?

He just nods and drops his legs to the ground, his hands beginning to trace little designs on yours. You pull your hand back and jerkily drag yourself over his leg towards your Rocket Car. He gets to his feet and helps you in without asking, and Rufio insists that your squeak of surprise was, in fact, more dignified that it sounded to you.

You're not entirely sure he didn't grope you in the process, but you can't feel anything down there anyway and he didn't seem to be the most coordinated of individuals at the best of times, so you don't say anything.

He climbs in and curls up on your lap as best he can once you're adequately situated. This close, without him trying to convince you to kiss him, you notice dark patches on his shirt, and they're rough and hard. You wonder if he got baked slime on himself, but don't comment, instead flying through portals towards his hive in silence.

* * *

You're in your four-wheeled device, taken out of your sylladex, in the food preparation block of Gamzee's hive. He's sitting on the floor with a pie, where two walls meet, waiting for the high to kick in. You feel unnerved by the posters decorating every wall. At least they're not Equius' _fine art,_ but you think you see one move every now and then, and hope it's just your imagination.

"So I'm guessing you're not to liking me too much anymore," he mumbles, and you're not sure if it's a statement or a question.

"What? No, uh, wow, I didn't mean to give that sort of impression! I really like you, as a friend. It's just, some things you do make me feel, less than well."

"If it's making you get your discomfort on, maybe you can all be telling me what it is I'm doing that's making you all unhappy-like?"

That's a reasonable enough request, if you can manage to not hurt his feelings. Not that hurting his feeling is something that happens easily, but he's been acting weird all day, and you don't want anything to happen. You think the poster above your friend may have just blinked at you. You shake your head as if to get rid of the thought and try to think of a way to answer him. You still want to sleep.

"I'm not comfortable with all the touching, at all. It makes me think of, uh, things I would rather not be thinking of, at any given time, really."

"I can be respecting that. I can be respecting the shit out of that." He wraps his arms around his legs in the corner.

"That's good, thanks."

"Can I tell you something though, brother?"

"Sure?"

"You don't be letting any of them mother fuckers get their harsh on at you about being weak. Just being alive you're all up and going through more shit than most of them. Every fucking time I see you I'm hoping that some miracle has thought to come visit the wickedest little brother so he can be getting his walk back. Any of those fuckers would have dropped all kinds of dead, if what happened to you got to be happening to them. "

You don't know how to respond to all of that; you just shake your head.

"You're all strong like water," he says, and curls into himself more. "Smiling like it isn't no fucking thing, your back's all broke but you're not, and if that ain't being mother fucking strong as tits, nothing is."

You laugh at his nonsensical analogy. Your friend is sweet, but he's wrong. He has to be, no one else has ever considered you strong except maybe Aradia, and now she's a robot-ghost thing and you haven't talked to her in a while. Majority rules, and Gamzee's opinion is likely drug induced anyway. You imagine Rufio agrees with him though.

"Can't you think, of something stronger than 'tits'?" is what comes out when you try to tell him, and his face screws up like he's thinking really hard.

"But tits are all like mother fucking scary and shit. What even are they for?"

"Uh…" Well, he had a point. You really didn't know.

"Could be strong as your Fidopawn shit, if you're all feeling that."

"It's Fiduspawn," you correct, and long ago you'd decided that teaching him any of it was a lost cause. It was somewhat irritating that he got parts of it wrong still when talking to you, but points for trying, you guess. You're feeling more at ease now, and you're both smiling at each other.

"Or your Pupa Pan shit. With the fairies."

"Aha, I wish. I think it would be pretty great though, to have wings."

He just looks at you, and his smile twists a little, like he knows something you don't, and he doesn't want to, though the look probably wasn't meant that way, you think. He swirls two fingers in the slime pie on his lap, and some of it drips on his shirt on the way to his mouth.

"Do you have any clean ones?" You gesture towards his shirt.

"Yeah, in my mother fucking respite block."

You run a thumb over the hem of your shirt, wondering if it's time you changed yours. You're not sure how long you've been wearing it for.

"Here, you can be having some of this if you'd like."

Gamzee gets up unsteadily with the pie and clumsily deposits the half filled tin in your lap before wandering, stoned, out the door towards his block. There's now slime on your clothes, and you guess that clothes decision was made for you.

You search your sylladex, but your only other outfits are just as dirty as the one you're wearing. You guess you'll just change later, but some of the slime has ended up just high enough you can feel it soaking though the shirt, and you hold it away from yourself, uncomfortable.

You don't touch the pie.


	4. B1TCH1NG 4BOUT B31NG WORR13D

You have to have been sitting in the same spot for ten minutes, waiting for Gamzee. Wasn't he just changing his clothes? Does it really take him that long to throw on a shirt and pants? You want him to come back so you can leave to get a change of clothes from your hive, then go back to sleep.

The face paint you couldn't get off your jacket is sticking to your neck. You had washed the rest off soon after arriving at Gamzee's, and he looked inexplicably disappointed.

Tapping a beat on your armrests can only entertain you for so long, so you get your husktop out, logging into Trollian for the first time in days, just in case someone needs to talk to you. You don't know why anyone would, but you should at least give them the chance, right?

You're deciding between trolling Nepeta or Kanaya when you notice someone's been trolling you for a few minutes. Great timing.

**gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling adiosToreador**

GC: H3Y YOU

GC: T4VROS

GC: H4VE YOU S33N G4MZ33?

GC: K4RK4T WONT STOP B1TCH1NG 4BOUT B31NG WORR13D 4BOUT H1M

GC: H3 1S 4 WH1NY GRUB NO M4TT3R HOW M4NY BRU1S3S H3 R3C13V3S

GC: 1TS G3TT1NG 4NNOY1NG

GC: 4ND G4MZ S33MS TO L1K3 YOU

GC: H3S NOT LOGG3D 1NTO TROLL14N

GC: 4ND WH3N H3 W4S H3 S3NT SOM3 M3SS4G3S TO K4RK4T TH4T SOUND3D L1KE H3 GOT HURT

GC: SO 4NSW3R B3FOR3 MY 4UD1TORY S3NS3 B3COM3S 4S US3FUL 4S MY V1SU4L S3NS3

GC: WH1CH 1S NOT US3FUL 4T 4LL

GC: NOT TH4T 1M COMPL41N1NG 4BOUT MY S1GHT

GC: H3 JUST WONT SHUT UP!

AT: uH, yES, i'VE SEEN HIM,

AT: i'M AT HIS HIVE, pRESENTLY,

GC: GR34T, NOW M4YB3 B1TCHY NUBS H3R3

**gallowsCalibrator [GC] blocked adiosToreador**

**gallowsCalibrator [GC] unblocked adiosToreador**

GC: OOPS, FUCK.

GC: IS HE OK?

AT: uHH,

GC: GOD DAMN IT TAVROS.

GC: IF YOU DON'T ANSWER I'M GOING TO RIP THOSE FUCKING USELESS LEGS OFF OF YOUR PERSON AND VIOLENTLY BEAT YOU TO DEATH WITH THEM.

AT: kARKAT?

GC: NO SHIT, ASSPAN, STARING AT ALL THOSE FAIRIES ROT YOUR SPONGE? TOO BUSY SCARING ALL THOSE POOR SHITSTAINS ON PROSPIT TO BE ABLE TO FUNCTION IN THE REAL WORLD?

GC: HOW IS HE?

AT: sORRY, iT'S JUST THAT, yOU'RE USING TEREZI'S TROLLIAN,

GC: OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE.

**gallowsCalibrator [GC] ceased trolling adiosToreador**

**carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling adiosToreador**

CG: BETTER?

AT: yES, iT IS LESS CONFUSING, tHIS WAY,

CG: GOOD. NOW FUCKING TALK.

AT: hE, wAS ACTING A LITTLE WEIRD EARLIER,

AT: aND HE WANTED ME TO,

AT: uHH,,,

AT: kISS HIM, wHICH WASN'T SOMETHING I WANTED TO DO, bUT HE DIDN'T SEEM HURT,

AT: jUST UPSET ABOUT SOMETHING, bUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT

AT: bECAUSE, i DIDN'T ASK HIM

AT: aLSO HE'S HONKING LESS THAN USUAL?

CG: SOUNDS LIKE WE HAVE A SAD CLOWN.

CG: ARE YOU SURE HE'S NOT HURT?

AT: rEASONABLY,

CG: THAT'S REAL FUCKING ASSURING. TELL HIM TO STAY THERE.

CG: I'M COMING OVER.

CG: CRAP.

AT: uH,

CG: ENEMIES. GOTTA FIGHT.

CG: DON'T LET HIM GO ANYWHERE.

**carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling adiosToreador**

Well then. Looks like you're stuck here for a while longer. Maybe you should check on your drugged-up friend, make sure he didn't brain himself tripping over something.

The husktop is captchalogued and you wheel yourself out of the block to go find Gamzee.

Or not find Gamzee, as he doesn't seem to be on the ground floor and you're not about to go crawling up all the stairs in his hive. You sit at the bottom of the staircase and call out to him. Something upstairs goes _thump._

"Is, everything OK up there?"

"Yeah. Just my shirt's getting its hide on. Them imps are all about pranking unwary motherfuckers."

"Um, alright."

Something else falls to the floor above and you hear a screech of "MOTHERFUCK!"

"Gamzee?"

"Think I have of them shirts down there. All that's up here ain't much for wearing." _Crash_. "Shit."

He comes running back down the stairs, using the wall to balance and almost tripping a few times.

You notice he's shirtless before you notice the wings.

* * *

**A/N: Pesterlogs don't work right on this site.**


	5. Get A Shirt On

You both freeze, look at each other with wide eyes, adolescent grey irises surrounded by yellow sclera.

Then your mouth starts moving without your permission, your thinkpan hasn't quite caught up enough to know what you're saying, but you know what you're thinking. You're thinking that it makes sense now; how you couldn't find him on Prospit, his smeared make-up, how he's no longer wooden tooth picking apparatus thin, the stained t-shirt (it was blood), his expression when you mentioned how cool it would be to have wings, and his excessive clinginess over "the awfulest fucking thing."

You're thinking that they suit him, the wings, huge and ridiculous, twin emoticons at opposing ends of the emotional scale, tragedy and comedy, and hasn't that just been the summation of your life? They're pretty, and you almost want to touch them, but would that not be unfair, to not let him touch you, but to expect him to let you touch?

You want to know how he managed to hide those giant things under his clothes, and with this thought you yet again become aware of how shirtless he is.

He's asking you to slow down, he didn't expect you to be at the bottom of the stairs, he can't keep up with what you're saying, and that's fine with you because it's not like you can either; you've pretty much developed a sudden case of verbal diarrhea, and wow, that was not a nice mental image.

Just talking you out of panicking wasn't working, so naturally, respecting your personal space was sure forgotten fast. His hands are on your shoulders in an attempt at a calming gesture, giving you a nice view of his bare grey chest -gosh, muscles, you've never seen those before!- and you don't think that's helping at all.

He seems to agree with you on that front, because a hand slides up past one of your horns to bury itself in your mohawk, he's kneeling on your four-wheeled-device now, and his other hand is tilting your chin up and he's kissing you.

Well, not so much kissing as mashing your mouths together; you're very much not moving and Gamzee obviously has no idea what he's doing, but that's the idea anyway. Too many teeth are involved, he tastes like sopor and chalky face paint and oh, someone's bleeding, you hope it's him, and it's pretty damned obvious he hadn't thought past the part where you shut up, because that had been accomplished already.

You're too surprised to even punch him off but he doesn't even seem to mind that you're not kissing back. His wings flutter happily, glittering as they catch the light and he finally pulls back to breathe.

"What," you pause to continue gasping for breath, "What was that?"

"That was all being a kiss." He sounds confused. There's purple on his lips, on yours too, and you feel guiltily pleased that he had hurt himself, even if he may be too high to have noticed.

"Yeah, I uh, worked that out." All your friends were so frustrating. Crushes only made it worse. "It's just, you agreed, to no touching."

"Oh," he says, and flops back on his ass on the floor, staring up at you like you'd just proven to him that miracles don't exist, all is science. You almost want to pull him back up to kiss you again, just so he stops looking at you like that.

The slime on your shirt is warm and sticking to your chest.

"Was something what happened one scene in one of Karkat's romcoms. Man, that movie was fuckin' tits, all them colors and shit." He pauses in his explanation and spaces out, grinning, just long enough you think he's not going to continue, when he starts again with "This one dude was getting his wicked harsh on, and the sister just chill as fuck up and plants one on him, 'cause she's all flushed for him unconditional-like, and they get their motherfucking makeouts on just like that."

Right, you think you got all that. It doesn't make you feel any better though, and you wondered how he managed to survive this long if he thought that movies worked the same as real life. You just blink at him slowly, his wings twitch and he's frowning.

"So I all got to be thinking, maybe it could be working miracles on you, too? Bro, I'm all flushed for you unconditional-like, ain't seeing why it wasn't all to be getting working."

You just stare at him, bewildered. It wasn't fair; how was it he could make you feel guilty, when he was the one in the wrong? You're hurting him without even doing anything. You're hurting him_because_ you're not doing anything.

You want to leave, change your clothes and go to sleep, to Prospit where you don't have to deal with a drugged-up, conditionally-immortal clown and his idiotic crush on you. Your shirt is demanding your attention, suddenly. You can't look at him. You think about what Rufio would say, but you just want to sleep, so you tell him "Karkat is, worried, so he's on his way here. You might want to, put your shirt on."

He honks in surprise, and you feel somewhat relieved at the sound; he's almost acting normal.

"Yo, Tavros, you can't be telling him, please bro? He'll be getting his upset on, and this god shit might start scaring a motherfucker, you feel me? Can't be having him knowing. I ain't wearing the god hood cause I don't want to up and worry him." He likely went back to his quest cocoon and changed into his old, bloody clothes before looking for you. There's probably a naked dead clown somewhere in this land.

"Get a shirt on." You still feel bad. He just died, came back, something's terrified him, and he needs you to feel something for him that you just don't think you can. You care too much, but at the same time, not enough.

After a long pause, like he's waiting for you to say something, he sighs, apparently frustrated. He gets to his feet, and drops something from his sylladex into your lap with a honk as he passes you.

You wonder where he got the thimble from.


	6. Fond of Expletives

You're not sure what to do with the thimble. You're not sure he understands what it means, and you're not sure you understand what he means by giving it to you.

He's making a considerable effort to make you like him, but you're not sure how you should be feeling.

Then again, this is Gamzee, and he's one of friendliest and least violent trolls you know, never taking issue to anything. On the other side, he does occasionally mention something about how everyone's equal in death or something, words it like everyone should just drop dead, and he says it all in that same odd way he spews harmless vulgarities. You're never sure how much he believes anything he says, just as you're never sure he's even aware he's talking. You're not sure what a "Vast Honk" is either, to be honest.

You slide the thimble onto your thumb, and absently spin it with your index finger.

That would be just like him though, to push all your buttons, metaphorically speaking. Just push and push until you start pushing back, then step off, all fluff, and sugar, just to start all over again once you've gotten comfortable around him. He does this with just about everyone, and while there's no indication of how conscious he is of his actions, general consensus among your mutual friends is that he's just too dumb to really mean anything by it. To be honest, most of your friends get like that every now and then, some more often than others. It could just be your age.

Gamzee seems to like everyone, and in return, most find his excessive friendliness repulsive. You never thought he would go out of his way to read Pupa Pan though, just because it's your favourite. He knows enough that he found you a thimble, small, metal, and useless to you, who doesn't know how to sew.

You're not even sure what you're trying to figure out. He's like a question mark that somehow ended up in the shape of a troll, was such a thing possible. And he now has sparkly fairy wings that he didn't want you to see. How are you supposed to feel about that?

You're passing the thimble back and forth between your hands now, and so lost in your musings that you'd have missed his return had he not paused to ruffle your mohawk.

"Hey!" You swat his hand away and he laughs.

He's fixed his face paint, but is still not wearing a shirt, instead holding it in his hands. Your eyes end up fixed on the wings again, and he moves them, seemingly just for your benefit.

"Can you, fly with those?" You immediately regret having opened your mouth. Everything that slips past your fangs today makes it seem like you crashed your rocket car into your horns a little too hard.

"Sure, motherfucker, all sorts of no ground touching getting to be happening with these bitches." He honks, and you wonder if it's supposed to mean something. It's hard to tell, sometimes.

He looks almost startled suddenly, like he'd forgotten he was half-naked. You can see where his grub legs used to be, just under his ribcage, and he starts untangling the t-shirt he's been absently twisting.

You captchalogue the thimble while he's distracted, trying not to rip the cloth on his horns. He manages to finish dressing himself without messing up his painted face again.

Then he just wanders off to the entrance, you following, because it's not like you have anything better to do, and it's weird being in someone else's hive without them, even if they're a good friend. He sits just outside, and you put on your brakes next to him, and you spend quite some time in the thick silence, waiting for Karkat.

* * *

You hear him before you see him. Karkat's always been particularly loud, opinionated, and over-sensitive. Were you the type to name-call, you may refer to him as an assblister, but that's more his thing. You're more the type to nicely inform people he is not so pleasant when his is angry, which is usual, and be hesitant about it because you know he'll berate you to a migraine and back if he ever finds out.

"FUCK!" He's also fond of expletives.

"Aw, shit bro, that foot just up and got away from ya," Gamzee pauses to honk, and it might be annoying if you weren't so used to it. "Happens to me all the motherfucking time. I'll be all minding my own business, chill as tits, and it's to be getting where I all thought it wasn't all being at, and bam, there's the fucking ground." Gamzee, however, may be even fonder of expletives.

"Gamzee, let's pretend for a moment I understood a word of that, and move on to more serious matters, like why you trolled me like you were being mutilated by a passing herd of blade-creatures that only exist in my nightmares," Karkat's standing again, after checking the knees of his jeans for tears, and he speed-walks over to you both.

"Hey, Karkat," you greet him at the imagined request of Rufio, and he stops looking at Gamzee like his bones will spontaneously eject from his body (maybe you had some sort of contact high from the stoner, your thoughts are weird today), to notice you.

"Hello, Tavros," he answers almost civilly, then actually seems to see you as his eyes narrow and the creases between his eyebrows deepen. He practically stomps over to you and grabs your chin. "The fuck? Did Gamzee get paint on your clothes and face? And there's purple on your..."

You can almost hear the 'click' as he realizes what happened. You're wiping your face off best you can, but he's back over to Gamzee in a second, his hand dragging the taller troll's shirt collar down so Gamzee has no choice but to follow.

"Gamzee, you pan-damaged bulge maggot, were you kissing the cripple?" Ouch. He's probably trying to defend you, but you'd like him better if he didn't act like being paraplegic was your defining trait, you're sure.

Karkat reminds you of a small dog sometimes. He's tiny, but loud like he thinks he's big enough to take on an imperial battleship.

Gamzee just tries to hug him. Karkat almost lets him, too, but then starts struggling and shouting, glancing at you every now and then. You speculate that he might tolerate it were you not present. That's how Karkat is; ever trying to be the strong and aloof leader, and ever falling just short.

"Answer me, fuckstain, did you kiss him?" Karkat pretty much shrieks, finally breaking out of Gamzee's affectionate grasp.

"Aw, best friend, weren't nothing to be any of your concern what miracles deem themselves to be getting their happenings on lipwards. I ain't all hurting nothing."

"He did," you answer for him, and they look at you, surprised, as if they forgot you were there. Kind of irritating, considering you were involved in the incident being discussed, but you let it go. "He kissed me. And, I'm not sure, how I feel about that."

"I'll tell you how you should feel. Not talking to him is how you should feel, because I'm getting the idea that you weren't exactly asking for him to put his disgusting mouth on yours. Fucking violated is how you should feel."

Gamzee makes what sounds like an indignant noise. Karkat ignores him and continues.

"In fact, what you should feel is his face against your fist, because romance is about balance. Hear that, asshat?" the last bit is directed at Gamzee. "Balance. Not taking advantage of stammering morons that can't assert themselves."

Gamzee is silent, and smiling vacantly at Karkat. You don't know what to say.

"And I see everything I just said went to waste. I might as well be throwing a pebble into the vast ocean of Does-Not-Give-A-Fuck that is Gamzee. Start rationing supplies, we're going to be adrift for a while," he pauses, staring at Gamzee's hive. "Let's go inside, before someone's lusus-sprite finds us and starts spouting useless lore bullshit."


	7. Sexual Harassment Via Sewing Implements

It is quiet in Gamzee's hive for a few seconds before Karkat starts going off about Gamzee's "fucking creepy grinning asshole posters". He then runs down some other tangents, but you're mostly tuning him out, and somehow the thimble is back in your hands again.

"Hey, I am going to go find a place to sleep, if that, is alright?" You imagine Rufio telling you it's okay, and interrupt the loud troll's ranting - something to do with a grass cutting machine, now? - giving him your best 'about to drop dead of exhaustion' look.

"Oh no, you're not. Something happened to shit-for-a-pan here, and you had something to do with it or know something about it." Karkat glares at you, and behind him, Gamzee is shaking his head, eyes wide.

"I, uh," you don't know if you should tell him or let him know about the whole God Tier thing. You look from Karkat, who is quickly losing patience, to Gamzee, who has apparently made himself dizzy and is now leaning against the wall.

"Tavros, I will rip your intestines out through your protein chute and strangle you with them," Karkat snarls, and you find yourself mentally comparing his arm's length to that of your torso. He could do it; you mean he isn't _that_ short. Not that it makes much of a difference; Karkat is actually pretty docile for how big he talks. You also suspect he may be a little hemo-phobic. He wouldn't be able to kill you.

"No need to be getting salty at Tavros, he ain't been getting knowledge dropped on his aurals to be making noise about," Gamzee almost sounds desperate, and you hear that in his voice before you manage to sort out what he just said. "Getting to be thinking our bro here's got some motherfucking appealing thoughts going on. I can be all down for some miraculous shut-eye."

"Gamzee, don't think you're getting out of this one. I'm a decent leader and I happen to care about you a whole fuck of a lot, asshole. So, you can either explain what's up, or let wheels here tell me why you were sending me concerning messages at the-crack-of-God's-ass-o'clock."

"Honk."

"Fuck you."

"Ha ha, I can't all be getting to remembering things this moment, best friend. Those thoughts are all like 'man, Tavros has some bitchin' motherfuckin idea there' and now they're all soooooooo sleepy-like."

"You're not fooling any-" Karkat cuts off mid-word, staring at you, and switches the topic to "The fuck is that in your hand?"

"It is, uh, a, thimble," you stammer, and you're about to re-state how you really just want to sleep when Gamzee continues your explanation.

"That story that Tav's gotten all into, Pupa Pan or some shit. Well I was getting my read on, 'cause if he's liking that story then it's got to be worth reading, dig? Anyway, I gave him the thimble cause damn, that's some motherfucking cute shit right there."

"Can Tavros even sew?"

"It ain't for sewing, best friend, the thimble's getting it's pretend on for being a kiss."

"Um, yeah. That is, mostly correct," you confirm.

Karkat looks at you incredulously. "Is he really sexually harassing you via sewing implements because of some dumb fairy tale?" He shakes his head. "You're both insufferable, I swear."

After that there's silence, until Gamzee stumbles forward from the wall and rests a hand on Karkat's shoulder in what is trying to be a comforting gesture.

"Are you in need of a nap too, best friend?"

"No, fuck off Gamzee." He growls, and punctuates it by shoving Gamzee's hand away. "There's kind of a lot to get done before we can win this stupid game. In fact, I'm sure I have much more important things to attend to than hearing about your pathetic as fuck attempts at getting the legless wonder to kiss you back."

You stare at the small bit of metal in your hand, not wanting to acknowledge that last part. It wasn't really directed at you anyway.

Karkat stomps towards the hive's exit, stopping briefly to say in your general direction "Thanks for making him eat. I'm assuming that was you."

Then he leaves. You want to tell him you didn't do anything, that Gamzee was God Tier and seemed somewhat traumatized by the ordeal before he got himself high on sopor. Without any conscious decision, you're trying to go after him, but Gamzee has come up behind you and has a grip on your device.

"Thanks for not telling him," he tells you, and you're left wondering if you should have let Karkat know, even as Gamzee leads you to a barely used block of his hive and leaves you to sleep and dream on Prospit.

* * *

You wake up covered in glitter and one very content looking Bard of Rage. You're not sure which irritates you more; the clown pressed up against you, or the 'special stardust' that will take a week or so to go away.

It's not all that surprising that Gamzee forgot about agreeing to not touch you anymore. Whether he truly forgot, or just didn't care, the end result is still an uncomfortable Tavros.

You don't even know what is with him and glitter. With how much he likes shiny and colourful things, you might expect him to wear jewellery, or at least face paint in a colour other than grey. The only real colour he wears though is purple, as if he needs a reminder of his blood and would be confused if he added others.

Gamzee lifts his head and you realize he wasn't asleep at all.

"Hey Peanut Butter," he breathes, and the nickname only adds to your unease.

"Gamzee," you respond, imaging Rufio is there to give you moral support as hard as you can, telling you not to panic at how Gamzee's thigh is slung over your hips, or how his arm is tight across your chest and he is, once again, shirtless. "Should I bother, inquiring about the sparkles?"

"Faith, trust and pixie dust?"

"What?"


	8. just s0 y0u have fair warning

Gamzee seems to think he's answered you enough, and just cuddles into your shirt – which oops, you haven't changed yet. You notice you're not wearing your jacket, though you have no memory of having taken it off. Both of you still have your pants on, for which you are grateful, but his hands are wandering to squeeze themselves between your back and his floor. It's not until he's gotten the first snap undone that you realize what he's doing - taking it off - and it takes until the second for you to regain enough mental function to protest.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" you screech, and start thrashing until he moves away and sits up. You are momentarily distracted by his wings again.

"You was just getting your Karkat on," he laughs, and you're sitting also, nap be damned, and reaching behind your back to put the fasteners back together. Was he really just going to take your shirt off just like that? Or was he just trying to freak you out?

"That was not okay, I think." You're surprised at the conviction in your voice, if not the words. "I like my clothes to be on my body, when I'm around other people. I like them on when I'm not around other people, too."

"Aww, fuck man, that wasn't cool of me, was it? Not giving no warning when I'm to be taking a motherfucking bro's threads off."

You're getting close to screaming in frustration. He's getting close to shirt-removing range.

You bet his hands away, then stop when you realize _you just hit one of your friends_. Your pause is taken as permission to continue, and rips the snaps apart all at once so it's just your shoulders holding the cloth up.

"GAMZEE!"

"What?" The clown gives you an innocent, hurt look. "Can you not be yelling, I've up and got myself the most unmirthful of headaches." He's probably not eaten a pie for a while then. How long have you been asleep?

"Gamzee, I am leaving," you state as clearly as you can. He starts to protest but you cut him off. "No."

"You were just looking warm, brother," he mumbles as you climb back into your four-wheeled device and re-fasted your shirt. You happen to glance back at him and he's hidden his face in his knees, wings drooping. "Please don't be leavin me alone."

"I don't, want to be near you right now."

You think you hear a sob as you leave the block, but it was likely just your imagination. To your knowledge, Gamzee has never cried, and why would he cry over you anyway?

There's a ping from your mobile communication device before you even manage to leave his hive. You take it out of your happy thoughts modus with some difficulty.

**apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling adiosToreador AT**

AA: this timeline is br0ken

AA: i'm g0ing back t0 fix it

AA: just s0 y0u have fair warning

AA: because y0ure partially at fault

AA: alth0ugh n0t really

**apocalypseArisen [AA] ceased trolling adiosToreador AT**

You reread the message a few times before you really feel you've read it. A sensation of ice cold slush spreads across your chest from the very centre.

Thoughts of Gamzee are pushed from your mind.

You're going to die.

* * *

**A/N: We never see Tav's modus as far as I remember so I just made one up.**


	9. Twisting Your Pan All Up In Knots

You're in shock.

Aradia had tried to explain doomed timelines to you once, in her apathetic robot way. You didn't get much out of the conversation, other than the fact that she had changed a lot, no longer someone you cared to talk to for an extended period of time. She had mentioned something about the timeline being judged unworthy of existence, likely by Paradox Space itself. You understood that by being caught in one, you and everyone else were going to die. Anything that could go wrong is going to.

But for the most part, you didn't understand, not being a time player. Breath was your thing, whatever that meant. How could the alternate timeline be partially your doing? Couldn't she have stuck around longer to explain? Did you really just do something that would cause everyone to die?

Your mind blanks out, and it's a while before you realize your gaze has fixed itself on one of Gamzee's creepy posters. Oh no, _Gamzee_.

At this point, you're feeling a lot like you did the last time you tried to leave Gamzee. He's broken, and this time it's your fault. The guilt creeps up on you, slow but suffocating, until your knuckles are pale from clenching you husktop and you want to throw it. You captchalogue it instead. It's not fair.

You're wheeling back to find him before you really come to a decision, trying to rationalize it as you go. He's your friend, he's already scared, and he deserves some warning, at least, even if he wasn't listening to you earlier.

That aside, you don't want to die alone.

Gamzee is sitting in nearly the exact same spot you left him in when you enter the room again, very much not crying. In fact he didn't look very sad at all. Maybe he really is just messing with you for the fun of it.

He has your jacket in his lap, his palms pressed together and eyes closed. He looks peaceful and relaxed. Maybe he has the right idea. It must be comforting, having something to believe in, a faith to an entity that he has never seen, yet knows is there. You have your fairytales, but it just isn't the same thing. Maybe you could ask him, he could teach you to believe blindly and everything would be alright and simple again.

More rationally, you know you should inform him of the timeline issues, and your impending demise. You don't want to talk though. You don't even know where you would start.

Then he's looking at you, cold and blank and almost lucid, and you get a feeling that maybe you should be afraid. But it's Gamzee, so you're not scared, not really.

"She tell you about we're all waiting to be corpses?" he asks, and you realize that he _knows_, and you're feeling conflicted every which way. Your feelings have tied themselves together all at once as you finally get it. You thought you understood earlier, but confirmation out loud solidifies it from words on a screen to reality.

You don't even try to respond.

"She get to tellin' you it's my mother fuckin' empty thinkpan what's all gotten all us to be doomed and shit?" What?

You shake your head, bewildered. Didn't Aradia say you were to blame?

"Heh, fuck," he tries to smile, but it looks to you like the reflection in a warped mirror. Distorted into a pained grimace. "I ain't near being high enough for this time shit."

He gets up and leaves the block, still holding your jacket, to his food preparation block without a glance to you. You follow, having nothing else to occupy yourself with.

"You wanting any pie there bro? Gets rid of all the anxieties you got building in that little peanut-butter pan of yours."

"Uh, no, thank you," you mumble after too long, not that he appears to notice the pause. Why did he think this was a good idea now of all times, where alertness will surely add to your survival? You almost ask, but your mouth is speaking before your pan catches up and what comes out is "Coping mechanism?"

"Reckon so, brother," he snorts, slime coated fingers nearly to his lips. "Can't be thinkin too good without it. Pie makes shit warm and fuzzy, like a good mother fuckin snuggleplane. Letting you see the miracles in everything. Unhappy motherfuckers ain't getting to bothering so much in my pan. Sure you ain't wantin any?"

"I don't-" You fidget, wishing to ask about the timeline, and he decides he's not done talking yet.

"See? That's what I'm speaking about. You got too many worries crying at you, twisting your pan all up in knots," he explains, and holds sopor covered digits out to you. You grab his wrist to keep him from force-feeding you, should he decide he needed to. "Get your see on to the miracles."

Then, against your better judgement, you want to try it, to know what he's talking about. Imaginary spider webs drag you forward to meet his hand and you lick off all the lime green quickly with no more hesitation.

Gamzee's face is blank and he seems to be staring at something behind you.

"That ain't cool, sis."


	10. How Immortality Feels

You attempt to shrink into your four–wheeled–device as you hear Vriska's laughter behind you. It is a shrieking sort of laugh, the kind that, if listened to long enough, might cause you to shove your head in a load gaper to escape. Oversized horns and all.

Then it hits you, what happened with the sopor and Gamzee's fingers and oh _god_ that tastes bad. You make a face.

"Aww, is the most irritating troll in existence afraid of a little slime?" She's still laughing, but sounds closer.

"I wasn't aware, of being a reflective plane, Vriska," you answer, and wow, you're going to get hit for that one. For the amount of shit that's going to get you, you should have used better wording.

You close your eyes and wait, imagining Rufio standing between the two of you.

But all that happens is a sort of psychic _squeeze_ in your mind, a warning pressure to not test your luck. Then it's gone.

"Looks like someone is God Tier. How's immortality feel, clown?" Vriska inquires with faux kindness, changing the subject just like that. You open your eyes. Gamzee is still shirtless and holding your jacket, which is wearing more face paint than he is by now.

Gamzee doesn't answer her, doesn't even honk. He just stares at your hand, fingers wrapped around his wrist. You try to let go, but your hand just isn't yours anymore, continuing to be controlled by Vriska.

"I asked you a question, imbecile." _Oh no._

"So I got to be noticing."

"Well then didn't it occur to you to answer?" She's closer now.

Now he honks. You know this honk well. It's the honk that means he's not going to acknowledge the conversation until the topic changes. You woke up too soon.

"That's not an answer. Tavros doesn't think that's an answer either."

"Right." your mouth forms the word without your permission as she makes you agree with her, even though you want no part of this.

"Tavros can think whatever Tavros wants to be mother fucking thinking. Ain't no reason for scary little spiders to be telling him where his mother fucking thoughts are to be at."

"'Scary little spiders'? Do I scaaaaaaaare you, clown?" Vriska asks in a voice often reserved for speaking to wrigglers.

"Only mother fucking usually." You still can't read his expression behind the messed up paint.

"Hmm, fair enough. What were you two fuckwits up to in here, anyway? I mean other than rubbing your faces all over each other and eating slime."

You think your face just got warm. Vriska's moved up to your side, decked out in jarring orange and a hand on her hip. She flips her hair over her shoulder.

Gamzee tugs his arm back a little, but your hand won't let go. He settles into a more comfortable position on his knees in front of you. You watch him reach around to where he's left his pie on the floor beside him. He doesn't seem like he's going to answer her, so you do it instead.

"We were talking about, doomed timelines, and about, being in one."

"What?!" This takes her by surprise.

"Aradia told me, we're..." you train off and start over. "She warned me because I may have had something to do with it. Causing us to be, in an, uh, offshoot."

The webs are in your mind again. You're surprised when the next thing you do is release Gamzee's arm, grab the pie out of his hand, and scoop a large amount of slime into your mouth. It tastes awful, but not as bad as before, as you've gotten used to it.

"You did what?!" comes her response, nails on chalkboard to contrast the gossamer strings in your mind. You feel nauseous.

"I don't know," you whine, and wonder how long it's going to take before the drugs take effect.

Gamzee rests a hand on your knee, but otherwise stays out of the conversation. It would be nice to be able to feel it; to have some physical reassurance right now. Too bad Rufio isn't real.

"She said, it was maybe partially something I did, but didn't explain to any degree that may be called satisfactory."

You expect her to be mad, to yell, make you do something you don't want to do. You don't' expect her to just leave. Just turn and walk away.

Gamzee takes his hand off your knee and puts your jacket on, concealing his wings. He grins at you. You contemplate how nice it would feel to punch him, except you would regret it immediately afterwards and it would add to your overwhelming feelings of... everything.

You must have glared at him, because he stops smiling.

"Wasn't none of your fault, brother."

* * *

About ten minutes later, you're going outside to see if Vriska's really left.

She's sitting on the ground not too far from Gamzee's front door. She's slumped over, chin in hands, elbows on her knees, and you've never seen her look so defeated. The Land of Tents and Mirth seems almost foreboding now, and there's an imp passed out twenty feet away.

"I guess there ain't no point in being angry at you, huh?" It's kind of funny to watch her talk in the position she's in; her whole head moves when she opens her mouth.

There are a million ways you could answer her. In the end though, you don't.

"There's got to be a way around it, right? Being doomed. I mean, I got luck on my side, don't I?" She isn't looking at you. Your not even sure she's talking to you, so you don't answer. Instead you sit beside her nervously in your device and wonder where she's headed with this. "That can't be it. 'Things didn't go the way they're fated to, so you're dead'?" She sighs, and finally looks at you. "Know what? Fuck fate. I'm God Tier."

"I'm not," you say in a small voice, not sure you should be reminding her. You see her again in your mind, covered in blood and dying slowly.

"Yeah." She goes back to her previous position.

"So I guess maybe, you could be alive, for a substantial amount of time, in comparison," you try to comfort her, you think. That's probably what you're trying to do.

"You're not helping," she grumbles, then she looks up at you, and jumps to her feet, wings beating the air ecstatically. "Yes, I just got the BEST idea. Wait here while I find the clown."

She sprints off into Gamzee's hive, leaving you bewildered outside.

The imp twitches and rolls over. You mentally poke at it, but its head is all scrambled and it won't, can't, listen to you. It occurs to you that it may be stoned. That may be you in a few minutes.

Vriska comes back out, exuberant, a nervous looking Gamzee trailing a healthy distance behind her.

"So Pupa, how would you like to fly?"

* * *

**A/N: Author is irrationally upset over something in minigame update. Author is ending chapter here and going to mope. Author is not discussing.**


	11. High and Highly Confused

"I think, that flying would be, wonderful, but the last time you asked me that, I became paraplegic." You answer her carefully, tone holding as little accusation as possible. "Besides, you already gave me the rocket car."

"Taaaaaaaavros, don't be boring, we had an agreement." She dismisses your voiced worries with a wave of her hand. "I think we can actually fix you now. It just involves you being temporarily dead!" she explains with too much enthusiasm.

"Oh my god." You look to Gamzee for help, but he seems to be busy staring at the foil Fiduspawn card he found in your jacket pocket. "See, you might think, that that's a reasonable thing, to do, but I've uh, come to terms, with being unable to use my legs, and I think it's reasonable to say you're being unreasonable."

"Wanting to help you is unreasonable now?" She's getting irritated. "I caused your problem, I should be allowed to fix it. You just _never listen._"

"Vriska." You try to interrupt, but she's working up a rant and doesn't hear you.

"Maybe I should just cull your sorry ass now and save Paradox Space the trouble! Tavros Nitram, too lame to have any sense of self-preservation, killed by the only person to give a shit."

Gamzee is paying attention now, though as far as you can tell, his expression remains neutral.

"Maybe I want to be nice for once, but no! I was a bitch in the past and I'm getting second chances from no one, even when I ain't holding grudges, even against a stupid boy that can't do a damn thing he's told!" She has her Flourite Octette out now, and your blood feels like icewater. "I ain't allowed to fix _shit_, and when I try, it gets thrown back in my-"

An airborne Faygo clocks her in the head, cutting her off mid-sentence.

"Oops," says Gamzee, and he doesn't look apologetic at all.

The world slips out of focus for a moment, and you're sure it's the sopor.

"Gamzee." She accuses. "What the hell?"

"I was all getting my search on for more motherfuckin' pie. Little fucker just up and got loose." He walks over and retrieves the Faygo. It's redpop. "Want some?" He offers, holding it out to her.

"No," she spits, and swats it out of his hand.

He shrugs and goes to pick it up again, but stops when he glances at you. "You ain't looking to chill, brother."

Well that's no surprise, considering.

Gamzee abandons the Faygo completely in favour of parking his bony ass sideways in your lap and clumsily combing through your mohawk with his fingers. You let him, because your head is starting to feel funny and it's too much effort to care right now. You know you would usually care though, and it's a weird feeling. Maybe you'll talk to him about it later.

"I was right, you _like_ him," you hear Vriska exclaim, and idly wonder who she's talking to. You end up coming to the conclusion that it doesn't matter, and that Gamzee's fingers in your hair feels good.

"Yeah. You can be telling that shit?" It sounds like a genuine question.

"Uh, yeah. You're sitting on him and petting him like he's your pet cat."

He removes his hand and you, disappointed, open your eyes, though you don't remember having closed them.

"Can you be telling if he likes a motherfucker back?"

Do you like Gamzee?

"He's confused." She snorts. "And stoned."

Oh, so you are. That explains things.

"Same." He points to his temple. "Are you to liking this here fucker too?" he asks, patting your head.

"I don't know. Sometimes I think so, but sometimes I hate him." She sounds bitter.

"Getting a hate on to Tavros ain't something I'm even pretending to be understanding, but I noticed something, " he shakes his head, then continues, "Sis, I ain't getting to be setting my gander on at your fine motherfuckin' self, most times." Compliments. He's going somewhere she isn't going to like. He goes back to combing though your hair, and you lean into his hand. "But it's seeming that maybe you aren't all being like you're usually being?"

"That made no sense. I'm me. Vriska Serket. Who else would I be being, other than Mindfang, of course?"

"Could be being upset." What? Oh, who cares, you'll think about it later.

"You can't tell that, you're not an empath and I am not-" She breaks off.

"Not what?"

Vriska doesn't answer. You open your eyes (oops, closed them again) and see her sit down. Her head hangs, and she says something in a small voice you don't quite catch.

"Couldn't be getting my motherfucking on listening to that."

More mumbles.

"Still ain't hearing," he just about sings.

"KANAYA'S DEAD!" she screams, and it echoes through LoTaM painfully.

"Well, shit." He stops playing with your hair again.

"How?" You ask, and both your friends look at you, surprised. Then Gamzee's looking at Vriska, and you're looking at Vriska, and you're not sure what you're both looking at her for, then oh, right, Kanaya.

"I'm not sure, I just found her, and it was too DAMN LATE." You can almost hear the eights she would be typing with were this a chat on Trollian. "I couldn't do shit about it, her dreamself already died, and, and," she sounds like she wants to cry. Vriska though, you don't think will ever allow herself to.

You're not sure if it's the sopor, but you want to comfort her. You have this sort of awareness that you would be upset over Kanaya, even without actually feeling the emotion. Is this how Gamzee feels all the time? You're not sure you like it.

You push Gamzee gently, and he obediently climbs off your lap. Progress.

You wheel forward a bit, and awkwardly lean down to hug her, despite the better judgement you aren't quite in possession of at the moment, but end up falling out of your chair. You forgot to put the breaks on your four-wheeled-device, and it rolls past Gamzee off of the cliff-thing his hive ended up on. Gamzee is wide-eyed and unresponsive. Then he honks.

You're probably not getting your four-wheeled device back.

Vriska cautiously pats you on the back, confused, then pries you off and stares you in the eyes. Gamzee makes this sort of high pitched whining sound that you can't make sense of right now.

"No, you are _not _going pale for me." She tells you sternly.

Gamzee honks again behind you.

* * *

**A/N: Okay so Vriska has like, these empath powers like Aranea I guess? And she can read Tav's mind, and wow I'm sick and this is crap but I felt bad for not updating so here you go. Not sure Vriska's in character so well, might go back and fix it up when I'm thinking properly.**

**Basing sopor slightly off mj but since sopor is not mj so it's a bit different and can apparently cause damage if used enough but is still slept in?**

**Quick FYI for people that don't know much about mj: It is not addictive. Eating mj is different from smoking. The high when eaten takes usually around 30 to 90 minutes to be noticed and can last around three to seven hours. When smoked, the high arrives in a few minutes and can last one to three hours. Everyone seems to react a bit differently to being high, though it's rare someone hallucinates. Most people get happy and all anxieties go away. Though they often become tired, most people can usually function just fine, and if I remember correctly, there are no documented cases of mj causing car accidents, and no one has ever overdosed on it. Many people use it as medicine, and it has been known to cure cancer. That is all for now. Hope you learned something.**

**Less than three.**


	12. I Don't Speak Idiot

Vriska shoves you backwards, looking disgusted, then stands up and walks past you. Gamzee has started a particularly long string of honks.

"Ugh, shut _up."_

He does.

Footsteps behind you, then you're being lifted.

Gamzee carries you a few yards away, one arm under your shoulders, the other... well, you would guess under your knees. It's not somewhere you have feeling, is all you know. He sets you on the ground a little clumsily, then sits cross-legged behind you and pulls you back so that your head is resting on his bare stomach. Your arms are hooked just above his knees to keep you from slipping down. He's a custom chair made to fit you perfectly, despite being so thin.

"Shit, bro, that fucked you up," he laughs. There's a pie beside him, looking untouched.

"Seems so." You attempt speech. Your tongue feels weird and it's hard to pick words that you're sure make sense. You settle back into him. He's comfy.

"How's them anxiety worries?" he asks while fiddling with your shirt's neck opening.

"Nope. None. Lots of fuzzy, though." That was a sentence, right? That sounded like a sentence. Then again, so does 'metal screaming juvenile carpet stains', which is a phrase that surfaced unprecedented in your mind just now.

Part of your mind is still trying to process what you'd just heard from Vriska. Kanaya is dead.

Dead.

It's not like none of your friends have died before, but it seems so... _impossible_ that Kanaya could have.

Gamzee honks. One of his thumbs has started sliding along your jaw. It seems harmless enough, so you let him. His pants are soft and you absently pet the cloth over his shin. She's _dead_. You still don't really believe it.

Vriska's standing over you, suddenly. Gamzee's muscles tighten right up, and you giggle, broken from your train of thought.

"You had better not need that fucking chair any time soon. It's not going to work again. Ever." She turns, kicking Gamzee lightly in the side before heading off back to his hive. You can't see her, turning your head only accomplishes hitting Gamzee with your horns. "Got any actual food in here?"

"Honk."

"I don't speak idiot."

"No."

"Figures." You don't hear her walking anymore. "Can you two losers keep yourselves alive and stay put for a few minutes? I'm fucking starving."

"Honk."

"That one better be a yes, or I'm taking our useless drugged friend and leaving you to rot."

"That was bein' a mother fucking yes," he tells her, then you hear him whisper "Bitch," low enough only you could hear. His thumb moves up to your mouth.

You lazily swat his hand away, but it's back, running along your bottom lip, tracing a protruding fang. You don't want his hand there; it tickles. You pull his forearm down until he's no longer touching your lips.

"Your face is damned miraculous," is your warning before he kisses you. You wouldn't have thought it possible for him to bend that far, but he must have a spine of rubber. Again, it's more like he just wants to cover your mouth with his.

You're pushing at his cheeks now with your palms, his make-up smearing and making his face slippery enough that combined with your inhibited coordination, you can't push him off.

There's an uncomfortable feeling twisting in your chest, and this may well be what it's like to panic while on sopor. It' a really weird feeling, because it's pretty much the calmest panicking you've ever felt. It's actually closer to determination, like the kind you feel when you practice jousting.

"No," you try to tell him, but the word's barely there. You try to turn your head, but your horns are in the way.

Gamzee breaks off the kiss though, and you take the opportunity to breathe. The air tastes for an instant like you imagine the colour pink to taste, then it's just unremarkable air.

"Wow, that was really gross to watch." Vriska has come back. You can see her. You think someone really should pap that look off her face, she'd be much prettier without it.

"That was gross to feel," you mumble. Gamzee's pants still feel soft, and you drag yourself forward to hug his knee, rubbing your face against the fabric. "This is nice to feel."

Gamzee laughs and Vriska ignores you.

"Tavros, that thing he just did to you, which I will very generously refer to as kissing." She makes a face, then "Was that the same as when I did it, minus the mind control?"

"I don't know." You can't remember it very well right now.

"'Cause that was fucking awful."

"Yeah," you agree into a grey polka-doted leg. There's this small insistence on the edge of your mind, a tickle that can't quite find purchase in your sopor-slicked mind. It wants you to leave Gamzee's lap and go back to Vriska. There's a hint of minor regret, cobalt and orange and selfish, and then it's washed out by green and cotton fluff and contentedness. Warmth.

None of you talk for a while, until Vriska decides she's bored and announces she's going back to her hive for some food.

Once she's far enough away, Gamzee leans down to whisper "Wanna be getting our escape on all motherfucking sneaky-like?"

You make a very inarticulate confused sound.

"Bitch is straight-up terrifying." His thumb runs over your cheek. "We could all be leaving while she ain't here."

"She'll be mad."

"Just gotta fix my face up some, bro," he continues like you hadn't said anything. "Then we can get to flying quick away like Laughsassins."

* * *

**A/N: Tell me when you see any mistakes so I can fix them? Thanks.**


	13. This Is Distressing

Gamzee proposes that you leave, but for the longest time, doesn't follow through, content to run his thumb over your face. It takes you the longest time to realize those designs he is tracing were not unlike those decorating his own face. It is an odd development, but his cool feather-light touches are relaxing, and you don't mind it at all.

Thoughts of Vriska hover at the edge of your mind though; her standing over you with her dice ready to roll and kill. Her voice when she yelled about Kanaya's death, and how she thought you were going pale for her. It is normal to want to comfort a friend, even if she is terrifying ninety-eight percent of the time and broke your spine seemingly out of spite. Wanting someone to know that you're there for them isn't explicitly pale, is it?

This is why Vriska is frustrating. Vriska is frustrating because as much as she doesn't understand what she wants from you, and you don't understand what she wants from you; you don't understand how you feel about her. Then things start getting out of hand faster than Nepeta can update her shipping wall, everyone else gets dragged into the mess, people get injured or killed, and she finds some way to blame you for the entire thing, especially if you don't accept whatever insincere apology she spews forth to absolve herself.

On top of all that, you still feel bad for her. Maybe slightly pale. Pale doesn't involve slobbering all over other people's lips. Pale is somewhat maybe possibly not all that bad. You're higher than Gamzee's hive, you decide. That's pretty high. You would know, being the one that had to build it up to the gate.

Gamzee honks, and you look up at him, curious.

"Straight up hilarious how's I'm always telling motherfuckers they should slam a Faygo, and that Faygo just up and slammed her."

"Yeah, that was pretty good. Your aim, I mean," you say, heading toward a thank you, and Gamzee shakes his head.

"Telling you bro, that was the most miraculous shit. Was all looking for a mother fucking pie to be soothing out all the panic-y unhappy, and I slip and then she ain't even trying to get her murder on anymore. The wicked elixir got her bitchy ass all straightened the fuck out." He stops to shovel some sopor into his mouth.

"So it was an accident?"

"Naaaaah, it was a miracle," he informs you with sopor sliding down his chin.

"Right," you laugh in such an absent manner you are nearly surprised with yourself. "So you were not, in any way, trying to protect me?"

"I'm not at all seeing where you're to be needin' protection, miracle bro. What the mother fuck could I be all doin' protection-ways that you couldn't get your bad self all up to?"

"I, uh, I am weak. My legs don't work. I don't hate anyone, and don't want to fight them, and I run away when I'm scared."

"No no no, you're not getting the noise I'm all saying at you." He appears borderline frustrated, which is a really strange look for him. "Strong like water. The ocean is always doing what the ocean wants to be doing, and it don't matter what shit a bro gets to be throwing at it, that motherfucker ain't gonna stop being what it's like to be. It goes around whatever shit's in it's way like it isn't no thing, just like you. You're all like the motherfucking ocean."

"You're funny, but I still don't believe you. It was too perfect, to have been an accident."

"Mir-a-cle," he corrects, poking your cheek with each syllable. You grab his hand to stop him, and stick out your tongue like a wiggler. He laughs and you both space out for a bit, mutually leaving the conversation.

Your back is telling you you need to move it before it starts to hurt, so you do. It isn't until Gamzee makes a soft little noise that you realize your upper body has been against his bulge the whole time. And you can feel it.

This is distressing.

This is distressing enough that you are distressed even through your high, and you might just be feeling nauseous again.

You scramble away from him as quickly as you can with minimal contact.

"Don't touch me," you snap, and he looks about to protest in confusion. "You know what you did. "

Then you spend a good five minutes giving him the silent treatment until you remember how difficult it is going to be to go anywhere without your four-wheeled-device, and by that point the sopor has made it that the incident doesn't seem all that important anymore.

* * *

Gamzee's ablution block is large, much larger than yours. You're sitting on the edge of his ablution trap, and it too, is bigger than yours. He had set you on the rim of it after carrying you up the steps, which is now on the list of the more terrifying moments of your life. You might ask him if you could use it to take a bath, except that would be an open invitation to all sorts of awkward situations and you don't want him, or anyone, to see you naked.

Gamzee is getting out his paint, and a wash cloth. You hold onto the rim of the ablution trap with both hands, as the sopor is making you feel like your balance may be compromised. You haven't fallen yet, though it feels as if you might, and that would be painful, for sure.

Gamzee has stopped moving, simply staring at the cloth in his hands.

"Hey brother, uh, I can't be feelin' like I'm getting to be all secure about a motherfucker bein' all like to seeing me without paint," he says without looking at you.

"You what?"

"Ain't no one's been getting to see this naked face a mine since I was a little mother fucker, ninja or otherwise."

"That doesn't make sense to me, logically, because you are okay with me seeing you shirtless," you try to reason through the sticky green fog in your head. "A naked chest is more unacceptable socially to have, than a non painted face, surely."

"I can't be finding the words to get a proper explain on, but it's important to my believings."

"So you're more comfortable with me seeing you half naked than without your paint?"

"Exactly, brother. I could get my comfort on easier with being full naked." He looks mischievous now. "Want to see me full naked?"

"Uh, no." You think your face is heating up. You and a bare Gamzee in the same room would be no less than a disaster and a half. You scratch at the dried sopor on your shirt from earlier.

"Aww," he whines, attempting a pout even with his oversized teeth.

"Speaking of clothes, or lack of clothes, you undressed me, partially, before, and I would like my jacket back."

"Yeah, sorry about the sopor. Some uh, dripped onto it," he apologises.

You think about the sopor; how it makes it hard to think, slows your reflexes, dulls your reactions. You think about how Gamzee is always eating it.

You have both been quiet, and it hits you that he has waited for you to respond for a while now.

"Do you think, maybe, you should stop eating that? I mean, we are in a doomed timeline, and cognitive abilities are necessities in life or death situations, right?"

"Are you thinking I could be living longer without it?"

"Yeah. With sopor, I feel like I'm trying to think around something big, like a wall. But without it I don't have that problem so much, only occasionally." You've been gesturing with your hands the whole conversation, and only just noticed. You go back to holding onto the ablution trap. "It tastes bad, too, so there's that."

"You want me to not eat it anymore?"

"Yeah, that's, what I've been trying to ask you. To, if you could, stop eating it."

"Sure,"

"Wait, sure? You're going to stop eating it, just like that?"

"If you're thinking I should be all to quitting, who am I to be disagreeing?"

You shrug, and Gamzee goes back to looking at the cloth in his hands. He seems confused about what to do with you in the block.

"I'll go outside, I guess, and see who's still alive, on Trollian," you offer, and at his nod of agreement, start dragging yourself across the room in the most graceful manner you can manage.

It's only once you're in the next block over that you realize he still has your jacket.


	14. BETTER BE EXTREMELY FUCKING IMPORTANT

**A/N: If it's easier for you to read pesterlogs coloured, find this chapter on my tumblr.**

* * *

The first thing you do is pull up Karkat's memo board on Trollian. He isn't going to be happy, but this is kind of important, and you just imagine Rufio is encouraging you.

Wow, typing is difficult when you're high. You hope you're forgiven any typos.

* * *

**CURRENT adiosToreador [CAT] RIGHT NOW opened memo on board Fruity Rumpus Asshole Factory.**  
CAT: fIRSTLY, i APPOLOGIZE TO KARKAT FOR USING HIS MEMO BOARD,  
CAT: bUT THIS IS AN ISSUE THAT AFFECTS HIM, aND, iNCIDENTALLY, eVERYONE STILL ALIVE,  
CAT: wHICH I GUESS IS THE POINT OF THIS MEMO HERE,  
CAT: sO IF EVERYONE WHO IS STILL ALIVE PRESENTLY, oR FUTURELY, cOULD BE OBLIGED TO INFORM EVERYONE OF THIS FACT,  
CAT: ,,,  
CAT: i FORGOT WHAT I WAS ABOUT TO SAY,  
**FUTURE arsenicCatnip [FAC] 0:10 HOURS FROM NOW responded to memo.**  
FAC: :33 *ac apurroves of tabby's screen name, but wonders what he is talking about*  
**FUTURE arachnidsGrip [FAG] 2:17 HOURS FROM NOW responded to memo.**  
FAG: You piece of shit.  
FAC: :33 ?  
FAG: Not you. Tavros.  
FAG: He fucking left. I told him to stay where he was, and he f8cking L8FT.  
**FUTURE carcinoGeneticist [FCG] 0:02 HOURS FROM NOW responded to memo.**  
FCG: THIS BETTER BE EXTREMELY FUCKING IMPORTANT, TAVROS.  
FCG: OTHERWISE I'M CLOSING THIS MEMO.  
FCG: START EXPLAINING.  
**PAST terminallyCapricious [FTC] 1:15 HOURS AGO responded to memo.**  
PTC: :o)  
FAC: :33 *ac is furry purrplexed*  
FAG: I'm s8 f8cking p8ssed r8 now. Just l88k at all these f8cking 8s.  
FCG: SHUT UP, FAG. NO ONE CARES.  
FCG: UNLESS YOU'RE PLANNING TO KILL, HURT, MAIM, OR OTHERWISE INJURE HIM, IN WHICH CASE EVERYONE CARES, AND WE IMPLORE YOU TO STICK YOUR HORNS UP YOUR NOOK UNTIL YOU COME BACK TO SOME SEMBLANCE OF SANITY.  
FAG: Hey!  
PTC: yEeEeEaH, i dOn't tHiNk eVeRyOnE'S AlL DoWn wItH ThE HuRtInG Of tAvRos.  
**FAG banned PTC from responding to memo.**  
FAG: Future and current selves only, loser!  
FCG: I'M WAITING, TAVROS.  
CAT: oH, sORRY,  
CAT: i MUST HAVE, uH, sPACED OUT, fOR SOME PASSING OF TIME,  
CAT: aN AMOUT OF TIME, tHAT COULD BE CONSIDERED UNREASONABLE, cONSIDERING,  
FCG: CONSIDERING WHAT?  
FCG: AND SPACED OUT? ARE YOU HIGH?  
CAT: yES,  
FCG: YOU ATE ONE OF HIS PIES, DIDN'T YOU.  
CAT: yES, sOME OF ONE,  
CAT: bUT I HAVE A QUESTION, cONCERNING GAMZEE,  
FAC: :33 *ac's ears purrk up in hopes of shipping mews*  
FCG: DOESN'T EVERYONE HAVE A QUESTION ABOUT OUR FAVORITE ASSNUGGET CLOWN? AND WHY WOULD YOU EAT ANYTHING HE GIVES YOU?  
FAG: Cool it down on the purr puns. You have got to have better, and more diverse cat puns.  
FAC: :33 *ac pounces on the funny little spider and swallows her up in one gulp!*  
FAG: Oh yeah? Well the funny little spider uses her venom to slowly kill the poor kittycat from the inside!  
FAC: :(( *ac regurgitates the spider with an amewlogy*  
FAG: Amewlogy? Lame.  
FAC: :33 shut up! let's see you do better  
FAC: :33 *ac says*  
FCG: I WILL BAN BOTH OF YOU FOM THIS MEMO.  
FCG: ANYWAY, HE' S LIKE AN INQUISITION NOODLE IN THE SHAPE OF A TROLL.  
FCG: HIS ENTIRE EXISTENCE IS A PARADOX, AND WHAT THE HELL IS WITH HIS HAIR? I'M NOT SURE HE'S EVER WASHED IT.  
CAT: nO, i'M NOT SURE HE HAS, eITHER,  
CAT: bUT WHAT I WANTED TO ASK, iS IF HE EVER SEEMS TO BE DOING SOMETHING, bUT THEN NOT SEEM TO HAVE BEING DONE WHAT HE WASN'T DOING?  
CAT: uH, i'M NOT SURE THAT MADE SENSE,  
FCG: IT DIDN'T.  
CAT: bUT, lIKE, fOR INSTANCE, i HEARD HIM EARLIER, sOUNDING LIKE HE WAS CRYING, bUT LATER HE DIDN'T LOOK THE SLIGHEST BIT SAD AT ALL, oNLY HE WAS WEARING MY JACKET,  
CAT: aND MAYBE SEEMED SORT OF DISTANT,  
CAT: dISTANTER THAN USUAL,  
CAT: aND THEN HE OFFERED ME HIS SOPOR PIE, wHICH I DIDN'T WANT TO EAT, bUT VRISKA MADE ME EAT,  
CAT: sO I GUESS I WAS WONDERING WHAT IT MEANT,  
CAT: i GUESS IT DOESN'T MATTER ANYMORE, bUT I'M KIND OF HIGH, aND I DON'T LIKE IT,  
FCG: NO FUCKING CLUE.  
FCG: HE MAY HAVE BEEN CRYING, HE MAY HAVE JUST BEEN FUCKING WITH YOU.  
FCG: I DON'T UNDERSTAND HIM EITHER SOMETIMES, SO IT'S KIND OF HARD HELPING YOU WITH YOUR ROMANTIC DILEMA.  
CAT: wHAT, rOMANTIC DILEMA?  
FCG: YES. HE'S FLUSHED FOR YOU AND BEING KIND OF A TOOL ABOUT IT, AND YOU DON'T KNOW HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT HIM.  
FAG: Consider my eyebrows raised.  
FAC: :33 ditto!  
CAT: uH,  
FCG: LET ME ASK YOU SOMETHING.  
CAT: sURE?  
FCG: YOU'RE USUALLY FINE WITH TELLING PEOPLE YOU DON'T LIKE SOMETHING, RIGHT?  
CAT: i SUPPOSE?  
FAG: Yeah, he is.  
FAG: All he does is complain.  
FCG: I WASN'T TALKING TO YOU.  
FCG: ALL I'M SAYING IS THAT IF YOU HAD MADE UP YOUR MIND ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT YOU LIKE HIM, YOU WOULD HAVE MADE IT CLEAR ENOUGH THAT EVEN HE WOULD GET THE IDEA.  
CAT: oKAAAAY, bUT I'M NOT IN THE SORT OF MENTAL FUNCTIONALITY TO EVEN CONTEMPLATE FEELINGS, i THINK,  
CAT: bUT I KNOW I DON'T LIKE THE TOUCHING, oR THE KISSING, oR WHAT IT IMPLIES,  
CAT: lIKE, pAILING,  
CAT: bUT AGAIN, cONSIDERING CERTAIN CIRCUMSTANCES, i DON'T THINK IT MATTERS,  
FCG: AND AGAIN, CONSIDERING WHAT?  
FAG: What, no one told you? We're in an offshoot.  
FCG: WHAT?  
FAG: We're toast.  
FAG: W8ing to 8e picked off like a prover8ial sca8 on Paradox Space's fla88y ass.  
FAG: And then the stupid drugged cripple takes off instead of letting me help him.  
CAT: oK, sEE, iN THE TIME I'M CURRENTLY IN NOW, i HAVE NOT GONE ANYWHERE, eXCEPT INSIDE, aS FAR AS I'M AWARE,  
CAT: wHICH IS NOT VERY, tO BE HONEST  
CAT: aWARE, THAT IS,  
CAT: i'M NOT VERY AWARE,  
CAT: aND I'M THINKING, tHAT MAYBE, i DON'T LIKE BEING CALLED CRIPPLE,  
CAT: sO IF YOU COULD STOP, tHAT WOULD BE GREAT,  
CAT: mAYBE EVEN GR8, aS YOU WOULD PUT IT,  
CAT: }:)  
FCG: WHAT THE FUCK.  
FCG: WHAT THE *FUCK*  
FCG: WHY DID NO ONE INFORM ME OF THIS.  
FAG: That sentence is meant to end with different punctuation.  
FAG: It 8n't a statement.  
FCG: SCREW OFF. I SEE YOU'RE REALLY WORRIED ABOUT THIS.  
FCG: OH GOD, I THINK I'M HYPERVENTILATING.  
**FUTURE terminallyCapricious [FTC] 5:06 HOURS FROM NOW responded to memo.**  
FTC: shoosh bro.  
FTC: GET SOME OF YOUR CHILL ON.  
FTC: not that you got all that motherfuckin much chill, but your bad self is all being in the motherfucking safety as of the time what's mine.  
FTC: :o)  
FAG: ...  
FCG: WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH YOUR TYPING?  
FTC: honk  
FCG: OK, NEVERFUCKINGMIND.  
FCG: SO WHAT YOU'RE SAYING IS THAT I SHOULD CALM DOWN BECAUSE I'M STILL ALIVE FIVE HOURS IN THE FUTURE?  
FCG: THAT'S STILL NOT VERY COMFORTING.  
FTC: :o)  
FTC: never said nothing about you being alive.  
FTC: ONLY SAID YOU WAS SAFE.  
FTC: ain't no one else gonna be touching a miraculous red drop what's from your body.  
FCG: JKSHGVSULIHEESHVNRLKJGVNEK  
FCG: FUCK.  
**FUTURE carinoGenticist [FCG] ceased responding to memo.**  
FAC: :33 uh  
FTC: OH, AND KITTY SISTER.  
FTC: thanks for the advice on where to be findin a thimble.  
FTC: GUESS I'M OWIN YA NOW. ;o)

* * *

You slowly shut your husktop, and lean back against the wall, trying to understand what you'd just read. That didn't seem like Gamzee typing, but it did at the same time. It didn't sound like anyone else you knew either, so it probably wasn't someone impersonating him.

And Karkat is presumably dead in five hours. Maybe you should let Gamzee know.

* * *

**A/N: Woo! Tav is starting to take charge of his situation! Just a note, I'm not really all that happy with this chapter, but I may end up back in the hospital soon and figured I'd just give you guys this. I'm pretty damned sick and noone knows what's wrong yet. The good new is that I have a new laptop so even if I do end up in hospital again, I can keep working on the fic.**


	15. More Like Yourself

Gamzee doesn't notice when you reenter the room, despite the way the door squeaks and your horn accidentally thumps against the wall. His face is painted again, but his eyes are closed and his breathing is soft. He looks peaceful, far enough away that reality can't mar his childish naivety with its harsh claws.

You don't want to wake him.

If anything, you want to let him sleep, keep him safe from whatever he becomes five hours in the future. You don't understand how this boy, carelessly sprawled on the floor of his ablution block wearing your jacket, could possibly be the same one that had terrified Karkat so completely.

You don't comprehend what it was you saw there on the memo. To be honest, you're a little frightened, but you're also sure that you'll understand later.

You shake the clown awake very gently, just in case.

He wakes up easily with a grin and a "We gonna go get our motherfuckin sneak on now or what?"

He looks happy enough that you just can't break it by telling him about Karkat's imminent death.

* * *

About two hours later, you find your positions reversed. Gamzee's the one shaking you awake. It takes you a while to realize what had happened.

There's another realization that doesn't take nearly as long. That quicker realization is that there's sand in your FUCKING EVERYTHING. It's in your hair, your underarms, ears, fingernails, up your nose, you're coughing and choking on it, and if you're not mistaken, Gamzee is finding it hilarious.

"Asshole," you wheeze out between grains of sand. He just honks and walks away, leaving you to deal.

You roll onto your stomach and prop yourself up on your elbows, making a note that Faygo and machinery do not mix.

It had taken you a while to leave LOTAM for, evidently, LOSAZ. After confirming that Karkat, Terezi, Vriska, Equius, Nepeta, and Feferi are still alive, at least for the time being, you'd been dumped, still high, into your rocket car by an antsy Gamzee. He really doesn't want to run into Vriska again, even if that means you don't find out how much alive or dead Sollux and Eridan happen to be.

Then he got Root Beer Faygo all over the rocket car, and it seems the vehicle likes the stuff even less than you. You know this because it promptly malfunctioned straight into a sand dune.

There's a tickle in your nose. You suck in air involuntarily, and with it, more sand. That sand really needs to get the hell out of your body, you find yourself thinking vehemently as you sneeze. And do you ever_ sneeze_, somehow launching yourself into the air, flipping over, and landing on your back. And when you inhale again, you're pretty sure there's no sand on or in you.

You're also pretty sure you have a nosebleed.

Gamzee's laughing again, and you really wish he would just shut up so you can make sense of what just happened. Instead, you act like the six-sweep-old you are and stick your tongue out at him. He's digging around in the sand.

"If you're, you know, _done_, can we hurry up and do whatever it is you think we're doing?" you implore. You notice, away from Vriska and with the fading influence of sopor, you're starting to feel more like yourself.

Gamzee stands up, holding a bottle of Faygo and dusting sand off of it. "Yeah, sure brother, just be giving my mother fucking pan a moment to be hurting less..." he trails off, and stares vacantly at some distant ruins.

"Did you just, forget you were talking in the middle of speaking?"

He doesn't respond, and the blood from your nose has made its way to your lips. You roll your eyes, then wipe the blood off on your arm as you look around in your sylladex for something resembling a tissue. You end up holding an unwashed, balled up shirt to your face.

As you wait for the blood to stop flowing, you look around for the rocket car. If you needed to, you could alchemize another. You are in the land your hive is in, after all, but getting there with no transportation might be an issue.

Horsaroni is in your hive if you remember correctly, and Tinkerbull might be nearby. You wish you took that sprite amulet thing with you, but it seemed kinder to let Tinkerbull go off and do his own thing without being called to help you every ten minutes. The amulet is on a table in your respiteblock, right next to most of your fiduspawn game.

Gamzee's still spaced the fuck out, so you try to reach Horsaroni with your psychics. It feels like you're hitting this really fuzzy barrier before you even manage to leave your own head. There's no real need to panic about it, and you just suppose that's some lingering effect of the sopor, hoping it goes away soon.

* * *

**A/N: Less run on sentences?**

**(I've been continuing Nope when I can't work on this. This was not intentional.)**


	16. All the Bullshit

Trollian chimes at you from something in your sylladex while you're thinking about how to get back to your hive. You uncaptchalogue your palmhusk, seeing as it's less likely to be ruined by sand than your husktop.

**arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling adiosToreador **

AG: Where the f8ck are y8u?

AT: yOUR 8S DON'T MAKE SENSE,

AT: aRE YOU OKAY?

AG: No, o8viously not. Now where the fuck are you?

AT: i'M WITH, gAMZEE,

AG: That's not answering my question!

AG: Are you on your planet?

AT: yES, bUT I'M NOT SURE WHY,

AT: iS THAT A PROBLEM?

AG: YES IT'S A PRO8LEM!

AG: That fucking clown is stealing my plan!

AT: wHAT, pLAN?

AG: Yes. Plan.

AG: The plan to keep you alive.

AG: Or may8e keep isn't exactly the right term.

AT: i DON'T FOLLOW,

AG: That's fine. Just stay put. I'm coming over.

AG: If he kills you first, just know it was my idea.

AT: wAIT,

**arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased trolling adiosToreador **

You spend a good two minutes staring at the little screen in horror. It goes dark from lack of use, and you're left looking at the reflection of your wide-eyed face.

"Bro? You're to be looking like you've been glimpse-catching of mother fucking Echo Side." Gamzee sounds concerned, but the first thing you do is make sure he's at least arm's length away. He's crouching beside where you're sitting in the sand, and his left hand is worrying at a jacket button.

"I don't think I trust you right now."

"Aww, but-"

"No," you interrupt, not allowing the slightest chance for the conversation to be derailed. "I need to know what's going on, Gamzee. Why are we here, why are we in a doomed timeline, and _why does Vriska think you're going to kill me?_"

There are more questions, but you stop when he stands up. His mouth opens and you think he's about to start talking, but then he shift his weight from foot to foot, does a funny little hop, and takes off running over the sand.

"GAMZEE!" You shriek, voice carried on half a breath, cracking and dying on the last sound.

He's unbelievable.

"GAMZEE, GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!" You call again, careful with your breathing this time for maximum shouting power.

He stumbles, looks behind at you. Sand is digging into the sensitive flesh beneath your nails, and you wish you could control it, make it rise and swallow his legs and keep him immobile until you could understand.

You actually try, reaching out with psychics you'd earlier thought blocked, and while the sand was cold and dead to you, other things were not.

There are two ogres nearby, and a crowd of imps.

You ask, politely but without words, if they would mind bringing Gamzee back to you. They agree, but when you feel them readying themselves for a fight, you hesitate. You ask them not to hurt him. This feels wrong enough as it is. They agree, once again, and start moving in a vaguely Gamzee-ish direction.

You wonder that they behave as a single entity, no autonomy to be found among them. You wonder if they are able to disagree.

* * *

The excited chattering of the imps draws you out of your mental conflict over your psychics some minutes later.

Gamzee is back, in the middle of a crowd of imps. The two ogres are on either side of him, holding his hands, and he looks so tiny next to them. You see him glance questioningly at both creature holding him, before drawing his legs up and honking gleefully as they swung him back and forth.

You couldn't explain why, but this irritated you.

An imp runs up to you and rambles something you can't understand, so you focus your mind on its much simpler one. It tells you that your friend didn't want to fight, and there's this oddness attached to the idea of friend that informs you that the imp doesn't fully grasp the concept. It's more like a confused sort of 'family but-not-family' (with a touch of 'potential mate'), to the imp, which is, all in all, not uncommon in the various beasts you have come across.

Also attached to the imp's idea of Gamzee is the idea that he's defective somehow. You try to question the imp on it, but all you get is that you're defective too.

Well, you knew that. You aren't allowed to forget.

Gamzee voluntarily sits down in front of you once the ogres release his hands. He crosses his legs, mimicking your position.

"Sorry," you tell him, and you mean it, but you just sound tired.

He shrugs and starts drawing in the sand, watching the gathering of underlings disperse with more attention than needed.

"I'm really tired of everyone, and by everyone I guess I mean you and Vriska, not telling me what's happening?" you explain, and while it didn't start as a question, somehow got there by the end.

Gamzee mumbles something, not looking up from where he's making abstact designs with his fingers.

"I can't hear you," you tell him gently, leaning forward and resting a hand on his arm.

Aradia told you once that touching someone's arm will make them more likely to cooperate, but only if they like you. You hope it works. If it doesn't, you'll call back the imps and ogres, even if it makes you feel like you're an asshole. You're sick of being dragged around like your opinions and thoughts don't matter.

"Can you start, with why Vriska thinks you're going to, kill me?" you ask. Your death is a difficult thing to think about, let alone voice concerns over.

"She was all to be planning on motherfuckin' God-Tierin' ya," he says toward the sand. "Thought maybe if I did it, you'd like a motherfucker more."

You wait for him to continue when he pauses. His hands are still and his eyebrows are scrunched up.

"Thought you'd maybe kiss me back,"he looks up at you. "Maybe."

"Gamzee, I don't feel, like I want to do that stuff with you. Maybe not with anyone, actually."

"Oh," is all he says.

"So when you," you wave your hands in a general sort of gesture, "do that stuff, I'm uncomfortable."

"Sorry," he mumbles, looking at the sand again. "Just that I keep all up and motherfuckin' thinking to be kissin' you, even if I ain't got the knowledge of how it's working."

You think of Pupa Pan, of how he mistook the thimble for a kiss. You think of the thimble Gamzee gave you. "You did give me one, kiss that I liked," you inform him.

He looks up at you, hopeful, and you take the thimble out of your sylladex, holding it up to him.

"This was, uh, very sweet of you, and, I appreciate it."

He draws in the sand again. This time you can tell what it is. It's one of his clown smiles.

"But, Gamzee, where did you get it?"

He doesn't answer you for a long time, going back to his shapeless designs. Then when he speaks, it's small, like he's waiting for you to hurt him. "Kanaya's hive. I did it, brother, got our asses stuck in all this motherfuckin' doomed time shit."

"You killed Kanaya?" you nearly yell, having lost control of your voice's volume.

He flinches. "No. That was being all accidental-like."

"Then, what happened?"

"He left the door open." Vriska says from behind you. She didn't take long to get to you at all. Half an hour, at most.

Gamzee looks up at her and freezes. Now that you think about it, it isn't very surprising that he is afraid of her. Gamzee is afraid of a lot of things, and anything that might cause him harm is pretty high on the list, right above loud noises. Not that you think Vriska wishes to hurt him any more than anyone else. Gamzee's likely the most harmless of your friends.

"See, I'm still confused, because neither of you are providing an adequate explanation of events," you elucidate.

"I don't care. Let's just get this over with." Vriska dismisses with a near aggravated tone. "Where's your quest cocoon?"

"Shouldn't I have some say in this?"

"No, because everything you have to say is lame and boring. I'm bored just thinking about it. Yawn." She taps her hand to her lips in a mockery of yawning.

"I want to go back to my hive."

"Fiiiiiiiine," Vriska acquiesces. She looks at Gamzee, who has been still an silent throughout the conversation. "The wriggler wants to stall. You gonna carry him or am I gonna have to deal with all the bullshit today?"

"No," you answer for him, "I think, I can call Horsaroni."

You hope the Fiduspawn is still around.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not going to continue this.**

**Check my tumblr for more info, I guess.**


End file.
